


the freckles in our eyes / are mirror images

by merrymelody



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymelody/pseuds/merrymelody
Summary: Title's from the Iron and Wine song used in the show.Soulmates AU - in this case, you're born with a tattoo of the first words your soulmate says to you. Used a bit of artistic licence – technically Nathan's would be 'I’m not a pantysniffer', but that’s too cruel to be tattooed on someone, even Nathan; plus I feel like even he might guess. Maybe.It's a WIP, I'm guessing it'll be about ten chapters in full.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idareu2bme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idareu2bme/gifts).



Simon’s mark is on his forehead, and even his baby photos show a hat securely over the offending words. 

His mum cuts his hair to hide it, in an effort to avoid bullying, which is all for naught. Everyone at school soon knows that even his soulmate’s first sentence will be: ‘You alright, weird kid?’ 

He’s had it said to him dozen of times already, barely even notices anymore. Matt dares the prettiest girls to ask him, before they collapse into giggles at the idea. 

When he’s nine, he’s reading on a lounger on holiday, when a girl with a gap between her teeth and freckles asks ‘Why aren’t you swimming? That’s weird.’ 

It’s close enough, he figures, and he sticks to her like a duckling to it’s mother for the fortnight, eventually working up to holding her hand. Maybe it’s her? 

But when he asks her, she looks confused. 

‘Mine says “Red or white wine?”’ I don’t think I meet him ‘til I’m older.’ She offers, and he realises, blushing, that she’d never considered him that way at all. 

Beginning community service, he compulsively touches his fringe. 

No one’s spotted it in years, but he can’t help but check every so often that it hasn’t revealed itself, that he’s not somehow blaring the truth to everyone around him. 

He’s been dreading meeting the others attending, he doesn’t know what they’ll have done, but he doubts he’ll make any more friends here than he did at school, or in the unit, for that matter. 

He vaguely recognises the tall boy, who turns out to be Curtis Donovan, the local celebrity runner, and who thankfully ignores Simon. 

Alisha is beautiful and terrifying – he stares at her briefly, without meaning to, but she catches him looking and mimics him with a googly-eyed expression, raising her eyebrows; and he ducks his head swiftly. 

Gary and Nathan fight like badly trained dogs, to everyone’s amusement but his own, apparently, and he decides the best way to get through this is to focus on his filming as much as possible; particularly after Nathan, the Irish boy, tricks him into telling the others why he’s there. 

He hopes maybe they’ll leave him alone after that, from what he has overheard, their own crimes are comparatively less serious, shoplifting and similar.

His ears are buzzing, he can feel himself going red, barely hearing Nathan’s words, he can see from the cheeky grin and the others sneers that it’s going to be another joke at his expense. 

At lunchtime, Kelly disappears with her phone, and Alisha to the locker rooms. 

Simon trails after Curtis and Nathan, who’ve decided to utilise the community centre’s recreation room, idly playing table football as they discuss the girls. 

Nathan has taken to making fun of him, even without the presence of the girls to show off to, although Curtis laughs along as they decide who likes who. 

Simon can’t help but roll his eyes a little, nervous as he is. Kelly, at least, seems kind, and smiled at him earlier. 

Apparently a soulmate who’s nice to him is too much to ask for. He’s not particularly hopeful about the whole concept, girls have never paid him much attention, and he doubts any girl destined to be his soul’s one true mate will be enthused about the concept, hence her first words; but if he could choose, he thinks a girl like Kelly, loud and scary as she can be, would be nice.

He thought by the end of the first day that, freak weather occurrences and nasty colleagues – co-workers? - aside, he could probably survive six weeks of this; after all, he managed five years at school, but the second day is more humiliating. He misses his phone to hide behind. 

Alisha appears to be pursuing Curtis, Nathan, or possibly just attention, as she regales all three of them with her story, complete with actions. 

‘I don’t know if this cop is gay, or what’, she giggles, and Simon ducks his head, hunching up. 

Curtis may not be friendly, but he’s at least civilised, he looks almost as embarrassed as Simon feels; but Nathan and Alisha might as well be siblings, as they seem immune to shame. 

Nathan’s practically mouthing a blowjob himself, licking his lips as Alisha completes her pantomime. 

Simon can feel himself hardening a little, it’s impossible not to, and seeing twin grins of self-satisfaction, he scowls a little. 

It’s apt that Alisha’s power turns out to be creating lust after her impromptu show, and Nathan’s quick to inform Simon of all the disgusting things he apparently shouted at her under the influence of her touch, calling him a sick bastard, asking him what pornography he watches. 

As usual when needling, Nathan’s managed to hit a nerve, and Simon glares, as angry at himself for being so obvious as he is at Nathan for pointing it out. 

He should be feeling guilty about the fact they’re burying bodies for god’s sake, or fixating on what his new power means. The point of turning invisible when he’s spent his entire life feeling it already is lost on him, but it must mean something. 

Instead, he feels small and petty, cross that Nathan called him names, that Alisha embarrassed him. 

It feels just like it did when he saw Matt every day, and that night, wandering the streets after service has finished, he decides he might as well spend an evening with a guarantee of no humiliation, and using his newly found power, he follows his neighbour to the local bar. 

*

Nathan’s tattoo says ‘I’m not a pervert’ and it’s on his upper thigh. 

Before he’s in double figures, his mother’s already tired of telling him to leave it alone, to stop fiddling with himself before she sews gloves on him, and how he and his soulmate must be a case of opposites attracting, at any rate. She worries, her son already tests her, and such a tattoo only gives him licence to push boundaries, to flirt and behave outrageously, excusing it all.

~

‘What’s your tattoo say?’ ‘…Allow me to treat you to a McDonalds, milady?’ ‘Nice tramp stamp’? 

The girl scowls, eyes hardening, which only makes her look more Oriental, the thick black eyeliner clashing with the deep blue shade. 

Not that Nathan notices mushy crap like that. She also has a fantastic pair of tits, obviously. 

‘Don’t act like you know me, cos you don’t.’

‘C’mon, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…’ Nathan needles, but it’s no go, she’s not cracking a smile yet, although she does soften enough to at least tell him why she’s here; which provokes enough curiosity for him to start trolling the creepy bloke, kneeling near the benches like a gnome. 

The guy who’s soulmate is apparently his cap storms off; and their resident celebrity cokehead Curtis Donovan is chatting up the frizzy haired girl, who’s clearly hoping opening with a phrase like: ‘I know you’ will be popular enough to up her chances that it’s etched underneath the uptight prick’s bicep tattoo. 

She’s cute, she probably has something pretty generic, another ‘Buy you a drink?’ or ‘Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?’

Nathan thinks the whole system sounds like a load of wank, truth be told, a trick to persuade guys to sacrifice their nuts and sign up for marriage and 2.4 kids as swiftly as possible. Most people will probably hear their phrase a thousand times, not least from their parents and doctors, so who’s to say which person is truly their mate? 

There’s the usual sappy shit, stories and urban legends from a friend of a friend about a couple who’s tattoos change colours or start to throb, who disappear and reappear on their skin, and for all he knows, reform to fart the alphabet; but there’s just as many people without marks, or with impossible ones like ‘Hi’ or ‘Excuse me’. 

His dad swears blind he doesn’t have one himself, and actually, breaking the habit of a lifetime, Nathan’s inclined to believe the selfish bastard. 

Nathan’s mum has ‘Just out for a walk’ on her elbow, and although his parents split when he was nine, he does remember hearing rows about it, her begging his dad to say it; him telling her it’s too late, and why should he waste his time when he’s not even her true love, over and over at varying volumes. 

Growing up in Ireland, almost no-one’s parents were a match, the older generation scorning the younger generation and the romantic trend to try and find your match. Mike wasn’t Catholic, another bone of contention for his parents, but he’s apparently traditional enough to marry the mother of his kid, or at least, the first one, mark or no. 

About the only thing more depressing than the whole concept is ditching it for the first girl who’s dirty enough to let you raw it and religious enough not to take the morning after pill; so Nathan figures if he can’t afford to be choosy, he can at least be halfway clean, and tries to carry a condom. Most of the time. His soulmate’d probably be proper filthy anyway, up for a bit of bum fun. 

Soulmates might be bullshit, but he supposes it’s not such a jump from magic tattoos to magic powers. 

The fact that Kelly can hear his thoughts is pretty fucking terrifying, not just the embarrassing homeless situation, but also that he’d like to bang her chavvy self silly. 

He really needs to get a grip, sure, he’s not at his full pulling powers at present, he can’t see bringing many girls back to the community centre and it’s flat, stained looking mattress, and spending 8 hours a day painting benches is hardly bringing in the cash; but there’s no need to lower his standards. The old hump and dump should cover it, all this moping around is so lame. 

He tries not thinking about her, she’s apparently already overheard him mentally thrumming it out a couple of times today, and there’s a thin line between flattering and a wanker like the creepy kid. Instead, when he's bored, he teases said creepy kid, who's name he can't quite recall. At first it was taking the piss for his obvious virginity, but after what he said to Alisha, idle curiosity's shifted to fascination, and he’s a man on a mission to find out the other boy's mark. 

It’s got to be hilarious, what kind of psychopath would be his soulmate? 

Especially since he can apparently turn invisible, which pretty much proves there’s no god – Nathan should have the best power of all, magnetised pussy or shitting gold; and that little perv has a license to spy? No panty shop in England’ll be safe!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Refers to the online short films 'Girl Talk', 'Area 51' and 'Not Aquaman.'

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Simon thinks he might finally be settling into community service. He’s not particularly comfortable with the others yet – they seem to have separated into pairs swiftly, with Kelly and Nathan often smoking and giggling together. Curtis, headphones always in, ignores the others mostly, but for darting looks at Alisha every so often; who’s usually reclining, cat-style, on any nearby surface. 

Alisha and Kelly chatter together occasionally, as he overheard in Shaun’s office, and as much as he admires their looks, the combination of them is terrifying in person; particularly when Alisha threatens to use her power on him. Between Kelly’s ability to hear his thoughts, and Alisha’s to make him reveal his desires, he’s frightened to do more than look at them out of the corner of his eye, reddened and aware of what they’d think if he does let anything slip. It was bad enough after Alisha touched him in the locker rooms, and he’s not sure what’s worse, Curtis’ disgust or Nathan’s amusement. 

Kelly caught him recording her one day, and he counts his blessings thankfully that his intentions at the time were truly innocent, wondering idly about her power and it’s limitations. He’s flattered when she confides in him, even asks him about his own talent, albeit by wondering why he doesn’t leave the country. 

They experiment with some of the theories he’s read about, to no avail; but it’s nice to have one of them acknowledge him. 

It’s even more of a surprise when he finds Nathan, head in a bucket of water, apparently driven by insatiable curiosity - or even better, envy? - to discover a power of his own. 

He’s apparently desperate enough not just to risk drowning, but to ask Simon for help. Despite Nathan’s now customary rudeness, Simon can’t help but acquiesce, and they spend a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon (in no small part due to chucking things at a blindfolded Nathan and watching him fall out of a shopping trolley) even if they make no more progress than he and Kelly did. 

The issue is clearly still on Nathan’s mind as the group wanders, litter picking, amidst his whining about not being special, until they discover the nude man. 

Simon grabs a shot before the guy can get away, as does Nathan, whipping out his own phone, comparing photos as he leans in to Simon’s space. Simon’s so momentarily struck at anyone being in physical proximity to him that he just grins a little, seconds before he recalls the disturbing subject matter, as Alisha drawls ‘He's obviously some kind of pervert or he's gay. They love that shit.’ She’s addressing Curtis, but Simon still ducks his head, cringing, can’t seem to help it. 

When Nathan asks them all for help later, he offers right away. 

He would for any of them, at least, he thinks so. Alisha and Curtis intimidate him a little, but it’s not as if Nathan and Kelly are the most relaxing company, either. They both accepted his help the other day, though, and he feels like if they’re not yet friends, he can’t be completely hopeless if they need him around. Especially as Nathan doesn’t have a power. If his stepdad is a werewolf, both he and his mum have no defence. Invisibility isn’t exactly an aid when facing large, sharp teeth; but it’s something. 

When Nathan mockingly rejects his offer, it reminds him for some reason of that night in the club, Matt embarrassing him, and maybe that’s why he storms off to the changing room. 

When the girls enter, he tells himself he’s checking for their marks, testing the limitation of their powers. 

‘Did that hurt?’, Alisha asks, as Kelly pulls off her polo top to reveal a bow tattoo on her lower back. 

‘My ex wanted me to get it, think he wanted to show we were together.’ Kelly rolls her eyes. ‘It’ll last longer than he did.’ 

‘He wasn’t your mark, then?’ Alisha laughs. 

‘Nah, mine says: ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you!’ 

Alisha snorts. ‘Maybe he’s a cop?’ 

Kelly rolls her eyes. ‘Great. Perfect match, I love the police. What’s yours?’ 

They continue to chatter, now in their underwear, and their voices sound faraway through the blood rushing in Simon's ears. 

He hardens, thinking of that night, of the girl on the stairs, her short skirt tight against her pale thighs, how she lay there so still, frozen. He knows how wrong this is, how furious Alisha and Kelly would be, what a nasty trick they’d consider it, but it just turns him on more. 

The others think he’s nothing, don’t want him around, well, then, what harm can he cause? He leans in, smelling their perfume, watching their bodies twist and move. 

Nathan or Matt might take advantage, touch or stroke and give themselves away, but Simon knows better, and the idea of furious reactions, that it’s shy Simon who’s seen them stripping, heard their casual gossip, and he can’t resist the grin spreading across his face. 

Neither can he resist paying Nathan back a little when he reveals why he’s been avoiding the community centre while the old people visit. 

Curtis’ genuine disgust in particular is warming, considering that Curtis and Nathan have so far tended to band together rather than acknowledge him. 

Alisha’s obscene mimes are equal parts arousing, despite himself, considering the subject under discussion, and embarrassing. As is the idea of Nathan sleeping with the blonde girl, or whoever she really is. Enjoying it, even giving her oral sex, something Simon would have thought anathema to Nathan, who's always bragging about sex and women in the crassest, most selfish terms. It makes him feel strange. 

Later when he’s messaging shygirl, feeling a little more confident within himself, a little more of a man of the world after the changing room, and a little braver after successfully mocking the Nathan Young, who always puts him on edge; he even asks her for a photograph. There may be compensations to his sexual inexperience, but appearances can apparently deceive even the more practised.

*

So much for being united, Nathan thought the whole killing a guy would have at least bonded their loser gang together, but he’s put his balls to the wall, begging them for help, and creepy guy’s the only one offering to come. 

He may have a cool power (although so far, it could be pissing in the wind, considering none of them have seen it), and it’s really touching and all, but he’s like five and a half foot, hardly striking terror into werewolf bones, he might as well bring Alisha. He wants Curtis, Kelly, maybe. 

~

Ruth’s kinda reminding him of weird kid at present, what with her apparent desire to capture every moment on her phone, although considering Nathan’s currently has a screensaver of cock and balls, he supposes he can’t really point fingers on that score. 

He thought idly about a camera when they were snogging on the stair lift, in the moment pretty much convinced she’s his soulmate, as they share enthusiastic, wet kisses with lashings of tongue, the kind most girls complain about. 

The whole thing’s over embarrassingly quickly the first time, however, and according to Ruth, his come face is apparently not yet one that needs to be immortalised on film; and between that and his tattoo, she’s more amused than he’d like in a bedroom situation. 

He’s hoping to get a chance to practice said face at least a few more times, so while they’re catching their breath back, he’s examining every inch of her to spot her mark. 

She complains at first that it’s like being checked for a very dodgy smear test, particularly when he’s using the light of his phone under the covers, but he reckons that’s sour grapes, because she shrugs and admits, after a couple of minutes of letting him check her twat out (with his tongue, let no one say Nathan Young's not a romantic), that she doesn’t have one. 

He thinks about it later, after the whole thing’s over, all awkward-touchy feely chats with his mum done; and having a little toast to Ruth that night on the roof, still wearing the stupid Boy Scout scarf for some reason. 

He’s not exactly thrilled his mum’s apparent soulmate can sniff his own crotch (although god knows if his dad was physically capable, he’d probably do the same) and pisses on lamp-posts every other week (not that Nathan's own record in that area is entirely clean), but Ruth may have had a sensible point or two, amongst the molly, shagging and elderly-related sexual trauma – it can be pretty shitty on your own. 

Nathan’s not saying he’s keen to get spliced, mind you, but he kind of hopes his own soulmate will turn up sometime before he hits 80.


	3. Chapter 3

They’ve got away with the reburial shit, minus some awkward dry-heaving; plus a couple of nightmares about the stink, and the squishy feel of spade cutting through that hand. 

The others know about the staying in the centre situation, and maybe Nathan should be grateful for the risk of prison distracting them, because they’ve actually kept their mouths shut on that one. Even Kelly. 

He’d begun to give up a little hope of getting anywhere with her, but apparently the additional pissiness was due to the girl from her neighbourhood and that frankly shit power. After the fuck-up with the cap, she relents enough to let him walk her home. 

And Curtis and Alisha might have deserted them in their hour of need to bang one out, or whatever the fuck’s going on there; but the weird kid actually bailed them out of the shit, even if he does seem a little too keen to literally dance on the probation worker and the other bloke’s graves. 

He’s pretty suspicious too, always eyeballing someone, asking Nathan if he knew before scalping Kel that she was bald. 

Nathan’s not sure if Sharkface thinks omnipotence is his power (which, by the way, would be lovely, as opposed to a huge, cock-vibrating fuck all so far) or if he just thinks Nathan’s that much of a cunt; but when he sees the guy crouched around the corner, filming the girls and Curtis chatting on the benches, he decides payback’s a bitch and so’s he, and nicks off with the phone the other boy is so keen on. 

Instead of grimacing or cringing like usual, old Barry or whatever his name is scowling, ready to pounce, and Nathan cackles loudly. 

‘He’s trying to kiss me!’ 

He’s taking the piss, but actually the guy always does seem like he’s one step away from fighting or fucking him most of the time, intense is not the word. 

Barry's stammering ‘Don’t touch my phone!’, probably petrified Nathan’ll see his little wank bank of creep-shots; then it occurs to him momentarily that the kid’s invisible, too, there’s literally no limit to the shit he could be looking at. 

Nathan was taking the piss before, but he really does kind of want to check out the phone now, see what gets a psychopath hard. He definitely never drops the camera when Nathan’s around, so he’s probably an equal opportunities sex offender. 

Kelly gets all mama bear, though, and a slap from her is enough for him to chuck the toy at Barry’s feet. Defeated!

Nathan’d worry she’ll feel sorry enough for the kid to do her own community service and throw him a pity fuck, but it looks like Barry’s content to kiss the arse of the probation worker. Good luck! Nathan’s not had a flicker from her, you’d think someone her age’d be grateful for it; but despite hoping she’d decide the best way to deal with her car’s smashed windshield is a hearty spanking, she hasn’t given him or the others a second look. Clearly a cherry picker. 

He sighs, sadly, and whistling, wanders off to find Curtis. 

The guy’s a legend, apparently he’s not content with wank sessions with Alisha, and has already lined himself up a standby girl for the real thing. Nathan figures it’s time for a bit of male bonding, but after only a few minutes he remembers what a killjoy the athletic boy can be. 

If Curtis isn’t practically wearing a 'no homo' sign, like Nathan patting his shoulder means he’s gonna jump him right there; he’s displaying his own shut-in leanings – for fuck’s sake, who hasn’t seen Spiderman? He’d actually be better off chatting with Barry, at least he’s seen films and TV and shit. 

He and Kelly take a smoke break, Barry trailing along, and they’re all still laughing at Curtis’ girlfriend; on a mission to find her man when it just so happens, he had his chap out less than twenty feet away. 

It’s kind of nice, to be honest. God knows his other mates haven’t been exactly showering him with visits since his mum kicked him out. 

He’s sort of hoping to get somewhere with Kelly, but her power’s bad enough without adding everyone else’s into the bargain. 

Every time he tries the cool shagger bit, one of them ends up embarrassing themselves as a homeless, or moonlighting as a Mitchell brother, or shagging a granny. 

She’s hardly going to be getting wet discussing his daddy issues, and the weird spell the baby casts isn’t exactly reenacting the Athena poster. Ticking off the others for swearing, and singing rhymes, he’s more like his own gran!

Still, a hot meal’s a hot meal, and a mate’s a mate, even if that’s all she is. Kelly slaps his hand away when he drapes it over her shoulders (and the top of her tit, but it's not his fault they're bloody enormous, now is it?), but she lets him stay the night on the sofa. He’s definitely had worse evenings. 

*

Simon’s beginning to relax a little, a month into community service. 

The others still run hot and cold, one minute telling him how smart he is, the next darting off after he asks them for drinks, but he’s still chatting to the girl online, and Kelly, at least, rarely leaves off of an evening without nodding or waving to him. 

Nathan still teases him, but also winks at him while winding up Curtis and Alisha about their stockroom adventures. Simon’s seen how much the other boy thrives on a reaction, so he tries hard to either ignore him or laugh along. He doesn’t want another Matt situation. 

He’s chatting to 'shygirl', trying to pluck up the courage to ask her to meet up, but he’s not convinced of the likelihood of her saying yes. She hasn’t even sent him a picture yet, after all. 

He wonders if she has a boyfriend, perhaps, or even a visible mark. 

She complimented his eyes in his profile picture, and for a second his stomach lurched and he had to recheck it, even though it’s the same photo he’s used for the last eight months. Just in case his words had suddenly become visible. 

He’s not sure how the whole system works, whether first words exchanged on a screen even count, but the last thing he wants is for 'shygirl' to find out his mark by accident. She’s always been so kind, reassuring, he doesn’t want her viewing him suddenly as ‘weird kid’, a man whose soul's one and only mate is apparently revolted by him at first glance. 

He asks her about her mark, instead, not convinced she’ll even answered, and he’s surprised when she replies that it’s on her leg. 

‘You’ve met him? You’ve got your soulmate?’, he types rapidly, and waits nervously for almost thirty seconds, as ellipsises appear and disappear. 

‘I did’, appears eventually. 

Then, swiftly: 

‘Gotta go, chat later.’

Assuming she’s 18, as her profile suggests, it seems unusual for her to use the past tense. He can’t imagine her soulmate is dead. 

Maybe it didn’t work out. 

Simon’s inclined to be credulous, he knows, but there are lots of stories about incompatibilities and incontrovertible differences despite the marks. Of soulmates born across insurmountable geographies, vast age gaps, to political and personal opposites…

It’s a reassuring topic to consider when Sally, shockingly, agrees to a drink. He’d half expected her to walk off silently at the invitation, like Alisha and Curtis, or worse, mock him like Nathan. Instead, she giggles like a teenager at his stories, lets him walk her home like Kelly lets Nathan, and he wonders if this is it, if things are finally starting to begin for him, better late than never.

It feels so good to tell her things, to not worry that she’ll take the piss, even at the unsayable stuff. The cat, the letterbox.

_(the girl at the club)_

_(the hopeful feeling he got when the text from Matt came through in the first place, how carefully he’d dressed, how he’d gone to the bar first to get them drinks, daring/not daring to wonder whether if he wanted to apologise, or maybe if…)_

She’s so clever, she knew without asking who it was alone at the bar, eyes round in shock at him, Simon Bellamy, with a beautiful older woman. 

He feels like he could tell her anything, show her his mark, even the things he thought he could never share with anyone, the way he thinks about boys sometimes, the things that turn him on. 

How soft the curve of her neck is, and how her eyes sparkle a little when she laughs. 

She’s an adult, nothing would shock her, she didn’t judge him earlier. In fact, she seems to like him. She talks about getting him drunk like Nathan does about girls, she’s not even perturbed at his lack of experience. 

He knows he should let the night end on a high note after they kiss, knows it’s not right to spy on her, but he can’t resist pretending for a little while longer that this is just a normal first date. 

Can’t resist watching her a little longer, cooking a meal, watching television, just ordinary domestic things. Getting changed for bed, not in the satin-y nighties and push-up bras girls in porn seem to wear exclusively, but ratty pyjama bottoms and a vest top, not a million miles from what he wears himself. 

She’s not for him, he doesn’t know where her mark is, whether she has a soulmate already or none at all, so it seems harmless for him to store these brief stolen seconds for himself, to look at from time to time, to enjoy. 

~

The next day, she approaches him outside the stockroom, and amidst the nervous anticipation in his stomach, there’s just the tiniest twinge of fear that she realised somehow. About the camera. His power.

Instead, she strokes his face, and his heart rises. Even more so when Curtis, the coolest one, and the one who always looks at Simon with a slight air of mistrust, looks at him with a new respect. 

He can’t help but stutter: ‘Don’t tell the others! Don’t tell Nathan!’, though. 

Simon knows he’s taking too many risks, with Sally, and with the camera, the images stored on there, all the proof. 

Not just of their crimes, but that he’s still doing it, even after Nathan, the last holdout as an eternal showoff, has long since grown tired of the ever-present red light accompanying their every move. 

That he has videos, not just of community service, where it at least it might be acceptable, if not encouraged; but also folders of them, snippets of them on their own. 

Sally, nipping into the shops after a long day, exhausted and washed out and beautiful in the harsh fluorescent light. Curtis and Alisha, posing for Kelly, her lips a pink curve, him curved behind her protectively, so close that his chin nearly brushes her curls, shaded golden against the sun. Nathan, alone, in an unusually unflattering angle, mouth pursed, eyes in dark X’s against a chain link fence. 

It seemed like fate when Nathan scurried out after Kelly earlier, leaving the centre clear for once. 

Sally suggests wine, kisses him, and it’s too good to be true, more than he deserves. When she doesn’t return from the bathroom, he instinctively feels his jacket pocket, searching for the phone. 

He was so stupid, to keep it, all of it, he’d backed up the videos and photographs to his computer, didn’t need to carry them around with them, leaving a trail behind them, all of them. 

Sally's on the bathroom floor, clutching her knees to her chest, biting her lip as Nathan’s raucous tones echo across the tiles, and she looks so frightened that he freezes for a moment, doesn’t try to defend what they did, or explain it.

‘You’re not like them,’ she pleads 

_(oh I know)_

But when she begs for his help, he’s closer than either of them guess to agreeing. They may be the only friends he’s got, but she needs him. 

It’s only when she mentions how they ignore him, and embarrassment – at this of all times! – flares in his cheeks that he reflects who he told that to, who he confided in about their mockery. His memory is so clear on everything she's said, they’ve all said, devouring each word like a starving animal chewing on a bone.

Simon's will crumbles altogether when Sally hits out, and in the slam of the mirror and the hazy red pain in his head, he feels like he did that night at Matt’s house, even enjoying the harsh, discordant noise as he smashes the lights, one by one, approaching her from nowhere as she searches helplessly. 

It wasn’t her, 'shygirl' or Sally, neither of them, ever. He should have known.


	4. Chapter 4

Nathan’s honestly just pissing about, he’s not sure why Barry’s so fucking menstrual at the moment. 

Maybe he misses his girlfriend, the probation worker he’s always sniffing around, who’s apparently fucked off to Greece without so much as a note. Nice work if you can get it. 

Nathan thought he’d enjoy having no-one around to boss them, but it just means Curtis and Alisha fuck off to not-shag all over his not-home, while Kelly handholds weird kid’s little tantrums. 

Nathan's snuck off for a toke, probably spunked the council’s phone bill for the next month on the 0891 numbers, but he can do this shit all night, every night, on his own, and now he’s fucking bored. 

He’s relieved when Kelly agrees to come and kill some time. More so when he inevitably thinks about shagging her, post-pizza fatigue and saggy, community centre mattress or no; and miracle of all miracles, she doesn’t immediately storm off. 

Sure, she’s defending their resident virgin, who apparently has stuff going on that they’re off having girly little whispering sessions about, which Nathan thinks frankly takes the piss a little – is this or is this not is his castle? No one should be having secrets he’s not told about! 

He teases her a bit in revenge about how much she loooooves the little spod, but he’s not a monster, he doesn’t want to tip the kid over the edge. 

Besides the fact he’s a bit of a younger brother figure, always smiling at Nathan’s jokes, which is no small potatoes with how humourless the other bastards can be… Well, creepy’s one thing, psychotic’s quite another, and Nathan’s apparently the only one of them who doesn’t warrant a magical superpower; which leaves him even less keen than usual to risk getting his arse handed to him. 

Not that he couldn’t unleash some Chinese cage fighting if it came to it, of course, but when you’ve got a face like his, it’s worth keeping safe. God knows he isn’t talking the girls into bed on charm alone, he’s already pissed off Kelly, admitting he thinks about shagging everyone. Oops.

~

It’s been a shitty afternoon, to the point where he actually wishes the uptight probation worker was around. 

He fucked up back there, left Kelly to Curtis and Alisha and all their new virgin friends. 

He’s surprised at the sting, not just of leaving, or of the feeling it takes him a little while to identify as…shame? But also seeing Kelly like that, all quiet and gentle, the chavvy, gobby style gone. 

It took Nathan long enough to admit he’d shag her, not just under his usual qualifiers (pulse and working genitalia, to be honest) but because despite himself, the bolshy attitude combined with the big baby blues actually does it for him, big time. 

Worse, underneath all that mushy, crushy bollocks, is the idea that actually, their bunch of ASBO-holding wankers, and Kelly and Barry most of all, are the closest things he has to best friends. 

He’s probably been infected by the virtue brigade and their voodoo hexing, and this is just stage one; but he actually finds himself feeling shitty, about running away, even about Barry. 

He literally called the kid a paedo this morning, and Barry still pulled him away from that crazy group, hand clutching so hard, he’s still got little half-moon nail marks on his wrist. 

The centre’s full of the weirdos by now, and he’s packed a bag with shit, clothes and biscuits mainly, from a local charity shop; but as the train approaches, he idly picks at the raised skin, worrying it, and when the doors have stopped to open, he bites his lip and picks up his case, to make what he’s already sure is a stupid decision. 

*

Simon feels like he’s gone backwards in the last few days. 

It’s always worse with the whole group around, as he lurks on the outside, ignored. Curtis, at least, seems to feel equally embarrassed as the others openly peer at the people on the hill, while Alisha loudly fakes masturbation. 

He and Nathan and Kelly seemed as if they were edging closer to friendliness, but the presence of the others and his own inability to contribute, shell-shocked, inhibits him, and Nathan seems to be needling him worse than usual. On rare occasions, he comes up with a retort, but today he can only muster flat, literal responses. 

Kelly asks him about his friends, but he ignores her attempt, it’s all he can do not to explode. When Nathan chucks the ball at him, Simon does; the hard, smacking noise reminding him of a thousand miserable PE lessons.

Kelly promises to talk to Nathan, and he wishes, and not for the first time that her first words had been uncharacteristically harsh. He never thought of her as the type of girl he’d like, her voice harsh and loud, and her outward appearance intimidating, fists clenched, hair scraped back, nothing like Alisha and Nathan’s curved lips and soft curls, or even Matt’s shining hair. 

Besides, Kelly likes Nathan, wouldn’t see him that way, but she does see him, and him her, and his heart clenches. He doesn’t deserve any of them, and if the police do come, Simon knows what he has to do. 

‘We’re not like that’, he murmurs. ‘You and me.’ It’s true. He’s seen her face, the dropped eyes and little wince at some comments, and those are the ones he can hear. 

You could say anything to Nathan and it wouldn’t touch him; but here’s Simon with the power of invisibility and he still wears every feeling on his face. 

Nathan continues to press, and press, oblivious even to Simon’s name apparently, and yet still observant enough to sting, as he taunts him about hanging around Sally, how he has no balls. Even when Simon responds angrily, he turns it, him into a gay joke. 

He’s sick of it, sick of the stupid, childish insults, and sicker of caring at all, of trying to drag these idiots out of trouble. He literally hauled Nathan away from the encroaching hordes, and here he is, demanding still, calling Simon a freak, a word that always sets him off, fills his ears with blood and sends his vision hazy. 

Nathan squawks something about them being friends. 

‘Too late’, thinks Simon, and leaves, stumbles away to the freezer. 

To the one person who did understand him, and paid for it. The one person he can love, who could love him. 

He doesn’t care what happens to them, Simon tells himself.

Curtis and Alisha are already lost, Nathan and Kelly as good as. He’s safe in his locked store room, dark like his bedroom. If any of them find him, he can pass for one of them, like he’s tried to pass as normal all his life. 

He ducks out every so often, uses the microwave when he’s hungry. 

On a trip back from the loo, he spots a gray suit, curly hair tamed neater than he’d assumed possible, a swift purposeful walk and a polite, friendly hand raised in greeting, entering the hall. 

So they did get Nathan. 

Simon retreats, but instead of the expected quiet murmurs, boxes shifting, pious discussion; there’s the sudden sound of screams.

Using his power, he approaches slowly, Nathan holding a gun to the strange girl, Rachel’s neck. 

Simon follows silently, clutching his headphones in sweaty fingers, torn. 

He needs to be alert, Nathan’s stacking furniture against the door, ranting as he waves the gun back and forth; but Rachel is still attempting persuasion, trying to catch his eye, use her power. 

Nathan aims the gun in her direction, and while he doesn’t look as if he knows how to use it, Rachel backs off, raises her hands, lips stilling.

Nathan appears to be trying to persuade the others, who’ve filed outside, and Simon watches, lurking near the piles of chairs. 

Nathan’s speech is overwrought and rambling, and at one point, he refers to shagging his own mother. He’s dramatic, posing and posturing even when facing down a mob, in the most precarious position possible; and his entire life philosophy appears to be a passionate defence of hedonism that Simon couldn’t disagree with more; and Simon is rapt throughout. 

He moves closer and closer as Rachel taps Nathan’s shoulder, the crowd below still and unmoved, and as they begin to squabble, Simon re-materialises, wet and panting, just a second too late. 

Everything after that second seems to happen in slow motion. 

Kelly’s loud sobs. 

The rusty puddles forming around Rachel’s head and Nathan’s chest. 

Curtis frantically holding Kelly in a tight hug, shouting for Alisha to call the police. 

Simon just stands, jaw clenched, gulping huge breaths, dimly aware that the mark on his forehead has begun to throb.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear to christ, the next half is going to start having, y'know, plot, this is just a short bridge to the actual action.

Simon feels off balance. A new probation worker. Nathan’s sudden return and power reveal. Seeing Lucy again. 

Nathan and Alisha immediately lasered in, laughing together at the idea of anyone shagging him, how mental she must be. 

Lucy looks near tears, she’s thin-skinned like him, and her voice betrays bitterness as she glares at them, giggling in the corner: ‘Were you with them?’ 

She knows his type. 

~

Sally asked him if he thought Alisha was beautiful, once. He really hadn’t noticed. She’s more like a zoo animal, gorgeous and wild, awe-inspiring. You wouldn’t dare to touch them, even want to, you’re content just to witness them. He’d certainly never considered her noticing him, but after what she just did in the locker room… 

He doesn’t know how she controlled her power, whether this is aimed at Curtis – despite what she says, they were curled up on the steps this morning - but he’s not made of stone, and it’s first time since Sally that someone’s touched him. Without a joke, anyway, Nathan takes pleasure in sneaking up, sliding a hand up his thigh, cupping his arse and giggling maniacally at his involuntary shiver. 

He doesn’t know how to ask someone out, a drink sounds a little casual after what she did for him, but when he proposes a meal, she seems suddenly cold again, like she’s already forgotten. 

He knows Alisha likes attention from men, he wouldn’t put it past her to tease him, or more likely, Nathan to send Curtis some sort of message, but giving him oral sex seems an awfully strong message. 

Maybe it’s her. 

It’s hard to judge first words, none of them spoke to him one on one for the first few days (apart from Nathan christening him horrible names,) but ‘weird kid’ wouldn’t be unlike her. 

Maybe she’s shy. She’s so beautiful, he feels a pang of guilt that he’s never really thought about what she’s like beyond that, but perhaps beyond her flirting, her mockery, there’s an entirely different person under the surface, like how Kelly’s spiky exterior hides her softer side. 

He plucks up his courage, asks, nervously, he’s too aware of his dry mouth and he’s beginning to ramble. 

Alisha’s lovely face creases into a sneer of revulsion, and Simon’s stomach feels very cold suddenly, reminded not of Kelly anymore; but of Nathan, or even Matt, one minute overly friendly, invading his personal space, the next acting as if it never happened. 

Alisha walks past, headphones jammed swiftly in her ears again, muttering a sharp ‘freak!’ under her breath. It’s a far cry from the other week, when it seemed as if Nathan’s death, shattering as it was, had pulled the rest of them together. 

Today feels like his worst nightmare, the others laughing at his unconvincing denials, blaming him, hitting him, calling him names, not just the usual insults, but ‘psycho’. He’s nearly in tears, cringing into the wall, when Nathan breaks the habit of a lifetime and backs away mid-insult. Simon’s so relieved his body sags, can’t look at anything but the smooth, blank surface, when the door to the bathroom suddenly swings open loudly. 

~

After Curtis’ story about the probation worker strangling Nathan, they’re taking no chances. The girls are armed and playing lookout as they wait for Lucy, sticks ready. 

Nathan, the real one, starts in again, his usual bullshit, but Simon’s long past trying to look normal. 

He feels like he did the day he walked out, left Nathan to that group. He’s sick of wanting to impress these people, wanting them to see him. They apparently see everything he wants hidden anyway, so the last thing he feels like is letting them off the hook, and he spits out a list of grudges, long and nurtured, names Nathan’s called him. 

Nathan pulls stupid faces, smirks a bit, but Simon thinks if he’s so proud of his own rudeness, why is Simon trying to avoid an uncomfortable moment for the other boy, and tiredly, he admits: ‘I just want to be your friend.’ 

To his surprise, Nathan, and even Curtis seem blind-sided. 

Nathan’s mouth moves silently for a split second, probably discarding insults, before he smiles almost awkwardly, nervous as Simon’s ever seen him. 

If he didn’t see her escape with his own eyes, he’d assume this was Lucy. 

He waits a second or two for the inevitable joke, but all Nathan manages is ‘sure, man’, and Simon can’t hold back a small grin that Nathan matches. 

He’s even more surprised to find Nathan actually seems to mean it, too, sticks up for him to Curtis, hand warm on his shoulder; even calling out when Lucy hits him, telling him not to worry. To leave again. 

Simon’s head is throbbing, already, and he can feel the cut on his head, sticky and hot, but there’s no time to see to his wounds, anymore than there is Nathan’s. 

Following Lucy, or rather, himself, he dabs at the blood ineffectually with the cuffs of his wrists, then texts Kelly. 

Wherever she and Curtis are, if they know where Nathan is, they can get him down from that pipe before he regenerates. Simon doesn’t understand how his power works, but surely if they don’t move him, then he’ll wake up only to die again within seconds, and who knows how many times it even works for?

Lucy is spiralling, fixated on them. Sometimes he thinks, mark or not, she’s more like him than anyone else he’s ever met, or will meet. But if they can finally accept him, he supposes he can accept himself, and he tries to treat her the way he wishes someone had with him. 

He’s begun to see they’re not perfect, not just witnessing their human reactions of fear and anger; and not just in the cool screwed up way, too many drugs and parties and fights. 

Seeing Kelly’s face crumple after the roof. Alisha’s awkward suggestion of drinks, her kind smile when he left the club. Curtis, furious at himself, furrowing his brow and holding his breath, like he can use his power just by wishing it. 

And now Nathan, pinned and bloody and still nearly in tears, cringing at Lucy’s attack on Simon. 

He feels like he finally belongs, his neuroses for once the perfect fit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to have taken so long, and thanks for the comments <3 Finally some plot, next chapter they might actually fuck (redefining slow burn here, I'm afraid.)

It's unseasonably warm for March, so, without discussion, they've all agreed this calls for a break from the drudgery of stacking chairs and swabbing floors, and have headed off to the roof. 

Shaun gleefully promised them they'd be ‘fishing out turds from the river’ this afternoon, but for now he's fucked off to do nothing himself, so even Curtis and Simon, the most conscientious, don't hesitate. 

Curtis and Alisha are curled up next to each other like contented cats, eyes shut against the noon glare. 

Kelly flashes a quick, friendly smile at Simon, but seems happy to sit alone, earbuds in, her eyes darting every so often over to Nathan; currently trying and failing to get a rise out of Curtis, who, in a display of remarkable patience, has resisted even opening his eyelids a crack. 

Nathan shrugs, undefeated, but instead of pulling out his iPod like Simon or Kelly, or rolling a joint; he shrugs, pushing his goofy yellow sunglasses over his hair, and starts unzipping his jumpsuit. 

Simon thinks this is a little excessive, it's nice for this time of year, but the temperature's still barely topping double figures. Even Alisha the only one of the group as uninhibited as Nathan, still has her jumpsuit buttoned to the neck. 

She's first to scowl, Curtis blissfully ignorant, eyes still shut. Simon represses a tiny smirk as she whines ‘Can you please put some clothes on?!’, both at her affronted tone, and Curtis's hopeful glance over to Kelly, which swiftly shifts into disgust as he realises who's stripping.

Simon's own smirk disappears as quickly, however, as Nathan steps out of his jumpsuit entirely, and starts pissing about, rubbing sun cream on his hips and nipples. 

Simon darts a glance at Kelly, to see if she's embarrassed too, but she's smiling genuinely at the ridiculous display. Nathan rewards her attention, blowing her kisses. 

Simon knows the best way for Nathan to start him is to react in any way, so he tries as hard as he can to ignore the other boy, focus on his music, but Nathan clearly hasn't received his required dose of attention yet and now starts shamelessly oiling his thighs and arse. 

Simon's not sure why Nathan is so confident. Certainly the other boy's good bone structure is evident, but his skin is milky pale and his body even less muscled than Simon's own, gaunt even, betraying a diet of vending machine food. 

His self-belief is somehow convincing though, and Simon can't help but look over when Nathan has his back to them. 

He catches the edge of what looks like letters creeping dangerously close to the line of Nathan’s ridiculous briefs, and wonders idly if it's yet another tattoo, like the stars and sparrows dotting the other boy's torso and arms; or whether Nathan, unlikely as it may seem, has his own mark. 

As if she's read his mind, Kelly pipes up: ‘What's that say?’ and Simon turns crimson, shoves his earphones in as deep as they'll go, aware suddenly of her. Kelly's not looking at him, though, unless she’s mastered hitherto unknown levels of tact; and as the girls and Nathan chatter, the blood rushing in Simon's ears slows, and the strains of Kraftwerk return amid snippets of conversation. 

'…a perv…' Nathan gestures to his upper thigh, apparently where his mark is situated. Simon considers this very appropriate.

'…Those first words? …proper skanky', Kelly sneers.

Alisha chimes in. 'Seriously? Either she’s being serious, and she's actually a nun, or a. Total. Slut.' 

Curtis whispers something in her ear and she smirks, swatting his clothed leg. 'Dirty', she murmurs to him.

'God, I hope so!' Nathan crosses himself and makes elaborate prayer hands. 'Hey, maybe it's you?' 

Kelly snickers, quietly, and even Simon, frightened and attracted as he in equal measure, can't help but hide his smile, ducking his head. 

He wonders what the other one's marks are, all apparently absent or concealed from public view. Or private. He winces, thinking about their first days of community service, watching the girls in the locker room. He wonders when they'll hear their words, if they already have. 

Something about whatever Nathan’s phrase, comical as it is, sounds familiar; and unlikely as it sounds, he wonders if he has heard it from Alisha before, or more likely, Kelly. 

Since Sally, he's avoided thinking about the topic, in no rush to humiliate himself further, particularly here. If Kelly picks up on his mark, he'll never hear the end of it from Nathan; currently standing closer to the edge than is prudent for someone recently impaled, bawling down to a stranger below. 

As the two converse about whose dad shagged whose mum at a volume half of London can probably hear, the discussion is forgotten by all, to Simon's relief.

~

Nathan's in a surprisingly good mood, considering yesterday’s drama. 

The guy didn't manage to split his lip, the nosebleed was thankfully the extent of harm endured by his beautiful face, all in the service of chivalry, defending fair maidens and calling a cunt a cunt. His dad, another of that variety, only less warm and deep, agreed to drop the charges against Jamie, if not to break the habit of a lifetime, and do some parenting. 

Tonight, they're going to celebrate the new bonds of family, and get Jamie his first London pussy. Nathan's pretty sure he's getting a hang of this big brother lark. 

Jamie's promised to get hold of some gear for the evening, as payment for letting him stay; and Nathan lets him, proudly, if not a bit threatened by how easily the little fucker has been charming the ladies, not to mention nicking cars. Nathan can barely drive, which is fine around this group of remedials who've accepted his automatic shotgun rights, but he's not having his little brother get too bolshy. He's supposed to be the one looking out for him, teaching him shit. 

The others have all agreed to come along tonight, Kelly hopefully frothing up at the idea of what's her name. Even Barry's agreed, the shut in. Fuck, he probably needs the help more than Jamie, maybe Nathan should do some actual community service and find _him_ a lay. He idly wonders what the other boy's type is (blind and desperate probably covers it.) 

Jamie's getting coke and molly; if weird kid gets off his tits with the rest of them, it could definitely be entertaining. The guys into pissing and armpits for fucks sake, get his confidence up and Christ knows what he'd be up for. 

Nathan, bored of discussing the leathered-up hero Barry's currently creaming himself over - particularly the part about him swooping in to save Nathan like he's some big tits scream queen - starts pissing about, fellating the air tube on Barry's mask, Kelly's glare hot on his neck as the other boy flails awkwardly. 

Tonight's the night, he's getting laid, he can feel it.

*

Tonight seemed guaranteed an hour ago, but it’s already turning to shit. 

A few beers, an e or two and they're all up for a good time. Even Curtis accidentally smiles once or twice before he and Alisha fucked off to change up their wank-in-a-cupboard routine to expand to toilets or alleyways. 

Jamie's off with the frigid pretty girl, clearly unafraid of a challenge. Nathan'd be inclined to try harder, something about dark hair and an attitude is hot, maybe it reminds him of his mum; but Kelly's smiling at him, and he can't help the goofy grin spreading across his face as he approaches. 

Neither of them’s clean living, but he shouldn't feel this fucked on a pill and a pull or five of vodka. Kelly's already grinding her teeth, jaw tight, and he wonders if Jamie got ripped off on the tabs, but fuck it, they're still standing. 

He's never tactful but he does find himself babbling swiftly about making her jealous, before he notices her pupils have gone past the usual Saturday night and into Trainspotting terrority. She nods, widening them, and spits out, staccato: ‘I feel dead weird. It’s my powers.’

He’d worry her powers are working on him, before getting distracted by her magic number. He automatically says some bullshit, but he’s actually a little shocked. He doesn’t know why, that’s only four cocks for her to compare him with, but if she's saving herself, that’s just more pressure. 

She says something about pretty girls, and he should shift the balance a bit, wink and tell her he won't tell anyone if she won't, but he fucked up enough with that shapeshifting bitch. 

He'd finally got the balls to tell her he fancies her, after the voodoo bullshit, then thinking he was going to be stuck forever in that coffin. She was up for it, and he'd talked himself out of it, again. It's become a game, he asks for a shag, she doles out a slap, she suggests a poke and some virgins cock-block them. Actual fuckings beside the point. Well, it’s time to stop being a pussy, before it gets any weirder and more awkward between them.

‘I like you, there's no explaining that!’ He means it to come out nicer, winces a little, but neither of them is at their most articulate. 

‘Sometimes I think I love you,’ Kelly grits out. 

Nathan's eyes widen. He’s not nervous, that would be ridiculous. He's been running on an assumption they'd bang at least one out since they met, chav-wear aside, she gets his motor running, and she clearly feels the same - who can blame her, she's only human. 

They've pissed about so long though, with more hurt feelings and fights than half the girls he’s “dated”. Shit, the last shag he had was with a girl he did the talking thing with, and look how that turned out, him wearing a Boy Scout scarf on his todd, toasting her memory. This is supposed to be fun, but instead of conjuring images of Kelly’s glorious tits wobbling, her hair brushing his chest as she rides him; instead it’s the look of her face falling, and his small voice promising to change, the line usually only his mum gets. 

Before Nathan can think of something suaver to do than gawp like a fish, Kelly's continuing the sharing session, more shades of last week, only instead of body blows like ‘It's who you are’, she's doubled the ammo, comparing him to his fucking midget dad. 

Nathan can't honestly say he's tried, but he's tried to try, or meant to, credit where it's due, but every man has his limits and at that, vodka and bile rise on his tongue. He spits back about playing ‘eeny meeny miney mo’, aware he sounds like a twat, just adding to his determination to get his own back. 

'Jamie can have you, I'm going after the _pretty_ one.' 

Kelly flinches at that, and a nasty little warmth rises in his chest, that he can almost convince himself is excitement to nail the lovely bar girl, and he heads to the loos for a tactical shit and cock clean.

In the toilet, little Barry does his own bit for heroism, providing much needed bog roll, and Nathan recalls his idle idea to get the kid laid as the other boy worriedly slurs something about how he feels weird. It’s a bloody epidemic.

‘That'll be the pills,’ Nathan offers, reassuringly. 

‘Everyone's looking at me.’ 

Only Barry can sound so upset at the idea, and Nathan'd take the piss, before he picks out the key part in that sentence. 

‘Are you talking about girls?’

‘Everyone’, Barry confirms, vaguely enough to make Nathan think he actually did hit on something earlier, and Barry _is_ an equal opportunity pervert, probably spanking it to the creepy Batman stalker currently sniffing their pants.

‘Speaking of pussy, have you seen the girl from the bar?’ 

Nathan waves his hand in a gesture lost on the wall, clicking his fingers.

Barry sounds smug through the wood and wooziness. ‘Her name's Lily. She was dancing with Jamie last time I saw them.’

‘Ah, it should be me getting in her knickers!’ Nathan wails. 

Brother or not, he's spent the last of his cash on booze and the door charge and after that scene with Kel, he's definitely not going home alone. Jamiell find another girl, the little shit’s good at that.

‘I thought you and Kelly...’

Barry trails off awkwardly and really, Mr Invisible Cunt and a walled cubicle are a pretty shitty combination, Nathan decides and wriggles on his stomach, cheerfully ignoring the detritus covering the floor, before popping up on Barry's side. 

He can spare a couple of minutes before he chases down what's her name, and Barry might not be much of a pussy man, but the big-eyed idolisation and advice is pretty fucking welcome after the night Nathan's had.

‘She's on the rag about something, kept talking shit.’

Barry really must be off his tits, he doesn't play teacher’s pet and defend Kelly like usual, doesn't even get all autistic about privacy and space boundaries like at community service, when Nathan's bored enough to slide his grabbing stick up the other boy's thighs or pinch his arse. 

Instead, he sniffs, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyes wide and pupils blown, and is that...?! Holy shit, the ever-present top buttons undone!

‘Barry, you're fucked!’ Nathan exclaims gleefully, but as his eyes travel over the other boy's bitten lips, he's actually feeling pretty dizzy himself and he remembers what Kelly said about her power. 

‘It must be the pill...our powers are reversing,’ Barry mutters. 

Typical. He can get all the pussy or cock he ever wanted, and he holes himself up in the bogs. Nathan's been in there way too long himself or else these pills really are something, ’cause he can barely focus, and it's not like that's ever been his strong point. 

He's no stranger to molly, but it's not fucking Viagra; cuddles and smiles yes, but he can literally feel his cock hardening in his jeans, the warmth of Barry's skin, even that fucking aftershave smells delicious. 

So much for teaching the kid, in a minute it'll be Barry taking the piss, probably filming him with that bloody camera, Nathan so fucked up, he's humping their resident arsonists leg. 

He folds his hands into his armpits suddenly, aware he was nearly about to rub his fucking nipples like a horny porn star, and it's clearly shame and the drugs combining, his knees are actually weakening. ‘I should…go,’ he offers dazedly, one last effort to regain his dignity. ‘Find…her.’

‘You barely know her,’ Barry argues earnestly, with his usual bad timing. Where’s Mr fucking Attention to Details, now? Instead he’s doing the ethical bit, the ‘I don't think you should do that’ like a bloody girlfriend at his ear, and the galling part is, he’s usually right. 

‘Jamie's your brother, let him have her.’

Nathan's staring now, licking his lips, barely comprehending, ‘til Simon comes out with it, serious even with the slur, all concerned. 

‘Besides, your power... You have to stay here.’

‘That what you say to all the boys?’

Nathan giggles, probably not the sexiest noise he's ever made, but Barry doesn't seem to process it, probably as Nathan combines the sound with sinking onto the other boy's lap. 

Nathan's a long streak of piss, whereas Barry's surprisingly strong, muscles in his thigh bunching pleasantly under Nathan's arse. He could probably throw Nathan off, or around, easily enough, but between the element of surprise, being stoned, and the limitations of the cubicle, he doesn't have many options; Nathan's preferred quality in a partner.

‘Get off,’ Barry mutters, neck red, eyes averted, wriggling in a motion Nathan's apparently supposed to be opposed to? 

He wriggles back in a grinding motion, grinning like a maniac. ‘I'm trying Barry, I'm trying!’

Barry's mouth, vocal chords and vaguely swatting hand may be saying no, but his cock is very definitely interested, and his intermittent protests are weakened by the little panting noises he can't seem to help, as Nathan shifts, dry humping his lap. 

‘Stop it,’ he says, pushing at Nathan's shoulder weakly. 

‘C’mon, Barry’, Nathan's progressed from grinding to nuzzling at Simon's neck, a level of multitasking he's frankly impressed with himself for mastering. ‘I know you like me. Seen you checking out the merchandise this morning.’ He waves a hand down himself, still rocking on Barry's lap.

Barry's cheekbones are pink, but for a pervert he has admirable restraint, and despite a hard-on the size of Spain against Nathan's arse, he's still not playing. ‘It's our powers, the pills... They're making you... We can't use them like that.’

‘Believe me Barry, I'm so far past sweet and innocent’, Nathan sniggers. He's working at Barry's zip with both hands now, Barry apparently convinced enough to move his neck, allowing the touch; when the sirens begin to howl.

*

Jamie looks pale and small in the hospital bed, sadder than he did curled up and passed out after meeting their dad. 

The nurses have already given Nathan two warnings, so he presses his lips together, squinting at the needle in Jamie's hand. 

‘You sure they're giving you enough?’ he asks, nodding at the drip attached. ‘Come down after e’s shit enough as it is. If you're not stoned off your tits by now, I'm complaining to the NHS.’

‘It's fine, just itches,’ Jamie says. His pupils are normal, the wound bandaged too tightly to see the burn itself, but he sounds flat and tired. Nathan twitches in his seat.

‘Sorry I didn't tell you about the powers,’ he offers. ‘It was the pills fucking us up, I thought she just…froze shit.’ He makes a gesture even he's not sure what represents.

‘You're immortal, then?’ Jamie asks, brow squinching. ‘So, when you said earlier…’ he pauses, yawns a little. 'About the fella falling off a roof?’

Nathan nods. ‘Guilty.’

‘That's what…’ Jamie pauses, tries out the word like it's a new taste. ‘Dad was talking about, on the phone. Thought they were taking the piss when the hospital called him, said the last time he got a call from them, it turned out to be his ex and their kid pulling a dodgy insurance scam.’

Nathan smirks a little. ‘Like I'd tell that tosser. He'd just be pissed off he didn't think of it first.’

‘And your mates? They all...do stuff?’ Jamie blinks slowly, looking knackered. 

Nathan pulls the starchy blanket up a little, embarking on the whole storm story, with plenty of side routes (Curtis and Alisha wanking, an absolute classic. He skips over the pipe through the back, the stink of it, dull pain; mindful that Jamie's got his own nasty souvenir of the weird shit surrounding them, one that won't disappear when he wakes up.) 

He starts with Alisha, birds of a horny feather, and by the time he's onto Curtis and his time shit, of which Nathan's still only sixty percent convinced is actually real, not just a retarded expression; Jamie's asleep. 

Nathan's tempted to nip out for a fag, but instead, he cracks his neck a bit, swigs some of the squash from the next table, and splaying his legs out, crashes out in the chair.

When he wakes, it's to a strident accent that make him sleepily wonder if his mum's there. The woman opposite has long dark hair and is shouting at his dad, so there’s definitely a similiarity. 

‘One day, one bloody day after he meets you and he's in the hospital!’ She says, wiping her eyes furiously. 

Nathan gives Jamie a little nudge, and he stirs awake muzzily.

Mike hangs his head. It's not like him not to argue back. Nathan's expecting mention of the toaster incident, the car theft or Jamie’s blood screen’s colourful report. Maybe the finger pointed his way; which if it wasn't from his sexually incontinent chronically inconsistent tosser of a father, he'd be inclined to agree with. He fucked up on the big brother front. 

He should have mentioned the powers situation or for that matter, what's-her-name's intimacy issues. Nathan's not sure how far they'd gotten, but the nights end, the girl shaking, in tears, covered in extinguisher foam; Jamie clutching his burnt hand, suggests overcoming them at least for a while. 

Meanwhile Nathan had left him to fawn over Barry.

‘The doctors say we can leave as soon as they've checked the bandage’, Jamie's mum mutters, barely able to look at Mike or Nathan. 

‘I'll get the prescription filled,’ Mike offers. 

‘Two minutes then, Jamie’, his mum says. ‘I'll wait outside.’ She nods awkwardly at Nathan, her lip curling slightly.

‘…Taking the ferry?’ Nathan asks, at a loss. 

He didn't know what he pictured from a brother, a permanent flatmate or a one-off visit, but it wasn't this, a tense scene not between his parents for once. 

His brother, the ballsy twat, full of pills, beer and bravado, shrunken in his charred jacket.

‘Can't exactly drive with this.’ Jamie waggles the bandaged arm.

‘I'm sorry,’ Nathan blurts, the words unfamiliar, heavy on his tongue. ‘I fucked everything up. Habit of a lifetime.’

‘Don't be a dick.' Jamie rolls his eyes. ‘It wasn't down to you. It'll be fine in a month or so, you don't need to go all mental. It was me. …I shouldn't have got so full on with her.’ 

He bites his lip. ‘She said a couple of times, when we were kissing. That she didn't feel good. …Thought she was just pissed.’

‘We've all been there,’ Nathan mutters. 

He thinks about launching into the time he decided procaine, kebabs and vodka were a good combination, get the gloomy look off Jamie's face that makes him see a resemblance to their dad for the first time; despite his straight hair and reasonable height.

Instead Kelly comes to mind. That evening he thought she was finally up for it, telling her how plastered the people he's been with usually are. 

How out of it Barry was last night.

‘You…uh, catch up with your mate then?’, Jamie asks, hesitant. 

‘Nah, she got pissed off with me, fucked off home early,’ Nathan answers, distracted still.

‘The other mate. The gullible one. Who “doesn’t take drugs”?’ Jamie makes a quote mark with his good hand.

Nathan's been upfront with his brother, he reckons. The fact he found him literally balls out set the tone, and he hasn't held back much. 

Told him about how little their dad gives a shit, about IKEA bloke, staying in the centre, the pic n mix and everything else, but…well, he doesn't want any awkward moments, or weird looks. It's not as if he doesn't like pussy as much as the next Young, after all. 

In the bar, something about his tone, asking about what Nathan’s into, reminds him of how Curtis smirks at the stuff he says, sometimes, makes him want to show off.

‘Barry? Yeah, just giving him some tips, poor bloke never gets a sniff. Did I tell you about his power?’ 

Nathan's starting to babble, like he did before with the car thieves. He should probably be worried at how naturally it comes, no doubt it's all that stuff about cactuses and hot tubs giving his brother the wrong idea.

‘Guess he was getting something last night. Saw him dancing like Morrissey with some blonde girl, then I grabbed me and Lil drinks, and she's asking me to check the loos cause he's been in there half an hour.’

Bullshit runs in the family and God knows Nathan has a long line of it, but Jamie doesn't sound smug, or grossed out, or pissed off; so Nathan pauses, momentarily and uncharacteristically quiet.

‘Look. I, uh, know you love breasts, and meal deals, and the like.’ Jamie does a pretty decent impression, even if he's taking the piss, gently. ‘But if this is what you want, you don't have to be a twat about it. Around me, I mean. I know you can't help it, generally.’

‘Aw, thanks for the brotherly advice! I feel so affirmed, all ready for the next pride!’ Nathan says with faux sincerity, flapping his wrist. 

Jamie gives him a look that despite never having met her, resembles his mum's, half affection and half grimace. 

‘Anyway, enough about my adventures, tell me about what's her name. Did you get a finger in there, or was it squeezing her tits? Cause I'm thinking tits on fire has gotta be better than the twat, the visuals alone… It'd be like a Greggs sausage roll, you'd probably have lost your whole hand!’

Jamie groans, but he takes the joint Nathan rolls for him, shoving it in his jacket, which is good, since his mum bustles in moments later. Nathan can't remember his own number, but Jamie adds him on Facebook, and the community centre has free Wi-Fi. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than he felt four hours ago, shitting it in the ambulance, Jamie’s arm covered in angry blisters, the droning fire alarm making his head pound. He still feels pretty crap, but he’s knackered enough to let his dad buy him breakfast; and while they aren't exactly buddying up, the prick pays, drops him at community service, and doesn't ask questions. On a scale of worst to best times with his dad, there've definitely been worse.


End file.
